


Fisher of Men

by LittleMagpie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Genitalia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eelias, Fishfucking, I wrote this in two sittings do not judge me please, Literal Eel Man, M/M, Mild Blood, Monsterfucking, No really it's not human at all in there, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexy Sea Captain, minor blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25438882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMagpie/pseuds/LittleMagpie
Summary: Captain Peter Lukas has captured an oddity, and can't shake the feeling that he's being watched.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 9
Kudos: 113





	Fisher of Men

The creature’s eyes were the problem, Peter reflected, watching the long ribbon of its lower half curl in the tank of cold seawater. The dark hair drifted around its face like seaweed, uncomposed, unruly, and those lips — pretty and flushed despite the cold, curved with a prim, sulking pout — were softer and sweeter looking than any man’s ought to be. Peter was familiar with what lay behind them, though; had the bite marks on his arm from pulling the eel-creature from the net the day they’d fished it up from the sea.

From far enough away, it had looked like a man overboard, half-drowned in the fog-choked, icy sea. If all you could see was that handsome face, the fair skin chapped pink in the cold, it looked enough like a sailor left to float. Close up, though, it was the eyes that gave the illusion away.

They were fixed on Peter now, unblinking, steady and green-gold as a cat’s. One pale hand was on the glass of the tank, and in the dim blue-cast light, those eyes made him feel uncomfortably  _ observed _ . As if the creature could divine his secrets, pull them from his mouth on a string until it knew him. He found his jaw clenching shut, and the creature’s eyes lit with wicked delight, its lips curving to bare that strange grin with its neat, pearly rows of curved, elegant fangs. His blood ran cold a moment, then flared perversely hot.

There was enough human about it that he knew it had a name. It had opinions, alien enough though they were. Peter did not want to claim the thoughts that crept into his head when his eyes slid across that long, sinuous form, the way human melded with fluid, boneless grace into eel.

_ Elias _ , the voice reminded him, surprisingly charming, in his head.  _ You know my name. I don’t know why you insist upon referring to me as  _ **_it_ ** _ when you know I’m quite male.  _ The creature’s voice was cultured, prim, so reasonable that Peter’s automatic reaction was a sudden and fierce displeasure.  _ Really, Peter! Manners! You pull me out of the ocean, keep me in this box, and then try to shut me out — _

The captain turned away, and when he wasn’t looking into those eyes, odd and bright and lucid with human intelligence and filled with mocking laughter, the voice cut away, leaving him suddenly alone with his thoughts again. How much had Elias seen? What did it know? Where did his thoughts end and the creature’s begin? The long, muscular tail of the creature was curling back and forth like a cat’s at the tip, and Peter could only think that it was  _ laughing _ at him. Laughing, flipping its body to reorient itself, to turn that wicked face his way again, those unblinking eyes like green-yellow lanterns pinning him in place like an insect to be dismantled and consumed at leisure. He hated that feeling, but those damnable eyes followed him in his dreams.

The eyes, yes, but also that mouth, and those hands that looked like they belonged on a human scholar, with long clever fingers and neatly curved nails, and the graceful curve of body — Peter had carried those with him into bed more than once since they’d pulled the creature out of the water, relishing the emptiness of his narrow berth and the endless lull and roar of the sea. But tonight was something else. With the Tundra floating still and silent in the foggy windless night, Peter was in a capricious enough mood to face Elias.

“Yes, all right, Elias,” Peter said as if the words were unwillingly extracted from his throat. They grated a little on a voice that hadn’t been used in days, as he turned to face the creature in the tank, listening to the wet sounds of the sleek body moving under the water. “I see you, too. I can hear you. What do you want?” He was more brusque than he had intended to be, almost harsh, and he saw the creature’s eyes narrow. The flick of that finned tail tip was more irritated now than playful.

_ Maybe I won’t tell you, _ Elias said, petulant,  _ if you’re going to be like that. _ But he didn’t turn away, only pinned Peter with those eyes again. They were bright enough that even the handsome remainder of his face seemed to fade a little into the background.  _ But if you must know, I want to know  _ **_you_ ** _. _

Peter felt his brows raise in surprise and curiosity. “Me? What makes you want to know me?” He couldn’t help the incredulity in his tone. “And what makes you think I’m going to let you?”

_ Come now, _ Elias said, again in that tone of beleaguered perfect reason, as if Peter were the one being difficult.  _ Surely you don’t think you captured me on accident? _ His smile was sly, and it would be easy to forget what was behind those lips.  _ I was watching. Maybe I’ve been watching you awhile. _ He placed both odd lineless palms on the inner glass of the tank, leaned close, and the dark drifting locks of his hair floated around his face.  _ I’m no green and useless creature to be fished up against my will. _ A note of genuine affront had crept into his voice, as if he was offended Peter might have thought so. It was a well-earned offense, Peter supposed, as he’d thought just that.

“I hardly know these things if you don’t tell me,” Peter replied, trying to keep his tone as dryly jovial as possible. “And it’s not as if fish men swim into our nets often. I thought perhaps I’d caught something one of a kind. I’ve got friends, you know” -- a lie, but one he was telling with boldfaced confidence -- “who’d be glad to collect a rarity, even if it was as obtuse as you are.”

_ An  _ **_eel_ ** _ , if you please. I’m not a fish. _ Elias straightened, and for a moment Peter was reminded irresistibly of a man smoothing a neat little waistcoat as he grinned that sharp little grin.  _ But a  _ **_man_ ** _? That I will own up to, I suppose. After a fashion. And you can hardly blame me for what I find attractive.  _

That playful expression returned, brows raised, eyes made as coy and innocent as they could be.  _ What I want. _ His gaze slid down, pupils imperceptibly widening in fascination, from Peter’s face, along the line of the captain’s body. Salt-and-pepper hair grown a little long with time away from the barber, a face as handsome as it was harsh softened beneath a fine beard, and a broad, sturdy body in a fine Irish sweater -- Peter was only incidentally aware of his own appearance, but he thought he could  _ feel _ Elias’ eyes on him again, as if they left heat where they touched. He still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be found attractive, but he didn’t break that eye contact even as the creature’s gaze slid down, imperceptibly tightening at the edges, to rest somewhere between the bottom of the sweater and the top of his worn corduroys.

“What you want,” Peter found himself echoing, watching Elias’ fingers twitch on the glass, watching his focus sharpen. Despite the thick layer of glass between them, he felt perhaps as if he was the one on display. “What exactly is it you want? I’ll not be finessed, cr-- Elias. If you want something, you’ll have to make it plain.” He lightened his tone, edging into joviality again. Want could be bartered with, played with, turned to his own purposes. A game, though Peter expected the stakes might be higher than he strictly wanted to play. He felt bold enough to do it, though.

Elias’ smile broadened, and he tilted his head.  _ I told you, Peter. I want  _ **_you_ ** _. But if that’s not plain enough, I suppose I could --  _ and here his voice turned long-suffering  _ \-- be persuaded to be clearer. _ He exhaled a soft cloud of bubbles, gill-slits flaring low on his sides and flashing the rich-red, tender feathers of flesh inside, as if in a deep sigh.  _ I want to see and feel you in me. I’d like you to fuck me, if you’re able. _ A note of challenge crept into his tone, a dare, something wicked and teasing.  _ You’ll, of course, have to take me out of the water, but where’s the fun in staying safe behind glass? _

Peter didn’t think his brows could raise anymore, but they surprised him, hitching northwards again in surprise. Perhaps the thoughts he’d been having had been his own, but they’d certainly been colored with Elias’ help, then. Fantasies of trying his luck against that needle-sharp smile, of gripping that sleek waist, finding out what passed for fucking when your bottom half was largely fish. He hoped there was some way to accomplish it, or at least he thought he did.

“You’re serious,” he said, and Elias nodded. If anything about the creature could have been said to be earnest, it was now.

_ As the grave, yes, _ Elias said, almost prissily. One of those hands had lowered, now.  _ Although I suppose if you doubt me, I could show you I mean it. _ Again, he did not wait for Peter’s agreement, but lowered his hand to the place, perhaps a foot below the spot where human flesh turned to smooth eel skin, and found a vertical seam half-hidden behind fins. As Peter watched, mouth open, Elias pressed two fingers inside. He  _ felt _ more than heard the creature’s sigh of interest, the way those eyes fluttered shut and his mouth softened in distraction. The slow endless ripple of that supple tail was almost spasmodic, like a fine deep shudder that rushed all the way to the end as those two clever fingers disappeared to the palm inside that strange orifice, then reappeared, and plunged inside again in an indulgent slide. 

_ Do you believe me now? _ Elias’ tone was warmer now as he slipped the fingers back out, palm spreading against the glass again, painting it with something thicker than water. His cheeks were coloring brightly, and Peter couldn’t look away.

Not for the first time tonight, he had a feeling he was going to regret this.

Still, he reached to his hip for the keys, hefted the heavy ring into his palm, and selected the small brass key that went to the lock that held the lid of the aquarium closed. He held it up, separate from the rest, and looked squarely at Elias. “Rules,” he said, voice a little hoarser than he wanted. Some perverse bit of him wanted the creature not to know how much he’d been affected by that little show, how much more he felt the confines of his corduroys than he’d felt a moment ago. He thought Elias must know, though, as those bright eyes were widened, his lips pursed and his wriggling more purposeful. He wasn’t looking at, or thinking about, the way that opening looked, pouted apart in what he could only assume was arousal. There was something sweet about it, inviting, the smooth mottled eel skin parted to show something pinker and softer inside, something more welcoming by far than it had any right to be. “Rules. No biting, or I’ll gag you. If you harm me, I promise, you’ll regret it more than I do. Understood?” Peter asked cheerfully, and Elias smirked, languid, almost sweet.

_ Promise _ , he drawled in Peter’s head, as if it came directly into the space behind Peter’s eyes.  _ What would harming you get me? I know you’re stronger than me, Peter. But if I get what I want, I can be very pleasant company.  _ Elias was moving, coiling, the lengths of his sinuous body hypnotic, drawing Peter’s grey-blue gaze like a magnet drew iron. Peter was fairly certain, still, that it was his idea when his hands reached out to find the lock, slipped in the key, and the sturdy padlock popped open. 

The creature was polite enough to wait for the lid to be opened before its head raised above the level of the water, meeting Peter’s gaze as water dripped from his hair and nose, ran wetly from his mouth so he could fill his lungs with air. Elias’ hands rested on the edge of the tank, and he let out a stunned sound as Peter’s hands, large and sudden and unexpectedly  _ cold _ , wrapped around his waist and lifted him bodily from the water, holding his weight effortlessly, and for a moment Peter let himself feel triumphant and a little smug at the expression of surprise on the creature’s face. His jumper strained a bit across his broad chest as he held Elias, wary still of the teeth, remembering the needle-bright pain of that bite.

“Still sure this is what you want?” Peter asked cheerfully, and Elias was doing his best to be still, the end of his tail curling, those eyes watching. After a moment, Elias reached out, putting curious hands on Peter’s broad chest, feeling the human warmth beneath the thick woolen jumper. He leaned in, and for a moment Peter’s hands tightened, but Elias only sniffed him, curious. A reflexive breath brought the smell of the creature to his nose, too -- cold briny seawater, with an undertone of something else, something primal and wild and strange. It only solidified the ache in Peter’s groin as Elias leaned in closer, rubbing his handsome, aristocratic nose against the worn-soft dark wool of his jumper. “Well?”

_ Yes _ , Elias replied after a moment, and his pupils were enormous as he looked up at Peter, the dark rounded in wide circles against the green.  _ I told you. Did I not make myself quite clear? _ His voice had gone rich, and Peter suddenly, again, realized he was in the process of making a grave error, and yet he did not care. He brought that cold, lithe body in against his, holding Elias up effortlessly, and he felt muscular sleekness  _ squirm _ against him, like wool and corduroy was catnip.

“No biting,” was all Peter could get out before he bent to crush that coy little mouth beneath his own. At first, it was clear Elias didn’t know what he was doing; a little shocked sound escaped him, and then suddenly his mouth was open, inviting an unwary tongue. He tasted of saltwater too, bitter as tears, and Elias kept his jaw open as he was explored, languid and lazy. Peter felt his tongue graze across those sharp teeth and reminded himself to slow down -- months at sea had made him impatient, and he drank in the sound of surprised delight as his tongue drove in again, tasting, exploring. 

When he’d satisfied himself, Peter broke the kiss, and looked down to study Elias. 

The creature’s eyes were wide, looking up at him avidly, and the sleek eel-like body was moving lazily against him, shamelessly rolling.  _ You taste like I thought you would _ , Elias said in a tone of delight.  _ A pity about the no-biting clause, though. I might have liked to keep a bit of you. _ He grinned, and again Peter was fairly sure he was making a mistake — but if nothing else, he thought, it would purge the fascination he had with the creature. There was something in his head that held him back, though. It was the same impulse that had led him to watch Elias for weeks before making his decision -- the same internal need for distance that kept him out at sea for months on end, the pathological avoidance of connection that meant he was unmarried and likely to always be. Peter had never examined it too closely, as if by doing so he might know himself too well, but under that strange gaze, he thought perhaps the cost was worth it.

Besides that, unbidden, the image rose as if from the depths of his own brain — the image of Elias beneath him, pinned on the rug and writhing. The marks of his own teeth, even and round, pressed into that fair cold skin, the flushed patches where his beard had rubbed against it were clear — 

“Stop it,” he heard himself saying as the vivid image came of himself pushing thumbs into Elias’ mouth to open it, setting inside his jaw to keep him from biting down as he slid, so-careful, into that cool wet mouth — “I mean it, Elias, no more or I’ll put you back in there, lock it, and throw the key in the ocean!” Peter’s voice was strained, hoarse, and if he’d been doubting his arousal before he had no more doubts; his cock ached, untouched, behind the zipper of his trousers. The creature laughed, and it was a low, deep sound in inhuman vocal cords.

_ You won’t,  _ Elias taunted, grasping Peter’s jumper and pulling himself up, his arms taut with effort.  _ You want me, too. I can smell you, Captain.  _ That odd body moved against Peter’s, fins against corduroy and wool, and he couldn’t deny it. He did. He wanted to sheath himself where those fingers had been, to use Elias until he couldn’t play any more infuriating little mind games.

“I’ve denied things I wanted more,” Peter said more harshly than he intended, but nevertheless he moved to place Elias on the low sofa, eliciting a low sigh of appreciation as the creature’s arms relaxed, no longer having to do any of the effort of keeping himself upright. Peter braced his knees to either side of Elias’ tail at the front of the sofa, boots still firmly on the floor against the roll of the waves beneath them. One hand came to rest beside Elias’ head, where the dark hair he had thought of as sleek when it was wet, was now curling in the cool air, and the creature lowered his hands, greedily reaching for Peter’s trousers. 

Before he could react, Elias had the button and zipper open, and had spilled Peter’s cock into his hands.

He knew he was not a small man in any sense of the word, but seeing his flushed, firm cock wrapped in those pale, cold hands made a breath escape him in a gust. Elias’ focus was singular, his fingers greedily stroking and learning and knowing every curve and shape and vein, one thumbing the slit at the tip until Peter’s knees felt weak and his hand gripped the back of the couch. 

_ I want this, _ Elias said, firm and sure, as his sea-wet palm slid down the underside of Peter’s cock, fingers curving as if to compel him closer, and although that perverse sense of disconnection wanted him to resist, he was powerless to do so, pulling one knee up onto the couch beside the curve of Elias’ body, the strange eel half still glistening in the room’s half-light. He brought their bodies into contact, rubbing against that odd flesh for a moment.

“Hands off,” he demanded, and Elias, laughing in his head, let his hands slide off Peter’s cock, raising them in the universal gesture of surrender.

_ You are, of course,  _ came the huskily mocking tone,  _ in control here, Peter.  _ But even Elias’ tone of sweet, sincere reason was strained here as Peter captured those fine-boned wrists in one big hand and restrained them above Elias’ head. This left one hand free, and Peter slid it along Elias’ belly, from the human skin down to the place where it turned to eel skin, feeling the texture change, feeling the muscle below jump in fine tremors beneath his calloused hand. At last he came to that small vertical slit that Elias had pushed his fingers into. The grey-green smooth skin was still parted, the frill of fin at either side, and the pink inside was still visible and swollen with interest; slickness had gathered at the bottom of it in a glistening bead. Peter swept the pad of his thumb along it, and felt the whole length of Elias’ body surge beneath his own; then, as if drawn out of him unwillingly,  _ please! _ in his head.

His jaw twitched, and he swallowed hard, fascinated as he looked down at Elias’ soft slit, rubbing the silky moisture from it between thumb and forefinger. “You really do want me, don’t you?” Peter asked, reveling in it. His fingers returned to Elias’ opening again, spreading him open, exposing slick rosy inner flesh, and then testing the feel of it with one thick finger. As Elias let out a breathless inhuman keen, he pressed his finger inside with slow intimate thoroughness, feeling snug slick coolness wrap around his finger and  _ squeeze _ , and imagining it clinging wetly around his cock. How would Elias’ tightness take him? He buried his finger in as deep as it would go and did not find a bottom, so he added a second finger, and now Elias’ arms were pulling against his grip.

_ Yes! _ came the pleading voice, composure cracking and coming undone.  _ Peter, damn you, yes, stop teasing me and — _

He did not get a chance to finish his sentence as Peter pulled his fingers out, wet with Elias’ fluids, and used his hand to position his cock at that opening. He did not hesitate, but took the slide slowly, feeling the odd, cool, alien stretch around him, the way Elias’ body welcomed his by degrees as he pushed in. He looked down at the long body below his, at the pale arms stretched above that curly head, at those compelling eyes glazed over with pleasure, and felt triumph and arousal flood through him. Elias’ mouth was half-open, tongue tip pressed to teeth, and the urgent sounds that escaped his throat sounded like music to Peter’s ears. He took his time giving Elias his whole length, and once he was buried in to the root of himself, he ground against that cool skin, releasing Elias’ hands.

For a moment Elias was still, struggling a bit, and then he drew a deep breath and reached out to Peter, grasping at him, pulling the fabric of his jumper up and stuffing his hands underneath. They were sea-cold on Peter’s warm skin, and he couldn’t help a gasp of surprise as those hands slid up deeper under the knit fabric, splayed across his belly and carding through the fine crisp hairs there with relish as Peter leaned into him, then pulled back half an inch to pull the jumper off over his head to let those greedy hands touch. Everything seemed distant compared to the pound of his blood in his ears and the need to move, to thrust against the lithe body beneath him, and his head fell forward, looking down at Elias with his pale eyes squinted. 

“I’m going to move,” Peter said, and waited only until he felt Elias relax infinitesimally around him before pulling out and driving back in, deep and slow and luxuriant.

Peter had fucked plenty before, of course; there was nothing so thoroughly purging for the soul as cumming deep inside a stranger and sailing half a world away — but no liaison to date had been quite the same as feeling the cool slick slide of Elias clasped around him. Nothing could have prepared him for feeling those hands grasp and claw as they wrapped around his ribs, leaving narrow welted marks as they worked to pull him closer, impatient with the distance between them. Peter worked him with deep, disciplined thrusts that bounced Elias’ hair back from his forehead with a wicked, almost cruel little hook at the end. He fucked like a man who wanted the keenest paradox of distance and drowning intimacy, a man whose body knew the steps as long as his mind could let go. Elias could not compose himself to tease any longer once Peter’s rhythm began in earnest, especially as the big man bent low over him, carrying with him the scent of clean wool, bay rum, and sweat. 

The creature’s arms were wrapped around Peter now, clasping him close, clinging with short nails dug into the broad shoulders. The neat beard brushed against the hollow between Elias’ chest and shoulder as Peter said, voice husky and taut with effort, “perhaps I’ll keep you,” his lips close enough to Elias’ ear to send a shivering thrill palpably through him, to tighten his clench around those thrusts. “Right in there, alone, with only me for company. D’you think you’d like that? I promise I’ll take you out to play, Elias. Just like this.” He punctuated this with a particularly savage thrust, and Elias cried out, short and sharp. They were making a mess of the couch as each thrust drew slippery squelching sounds from between them, forcing slickness out to drool stickily down the sides of Elias’ body.

_ Whatever you want _ , came Elias’ cry,  _ just don’t stop! Faster!  _ He was demanding now too, and the silence of the captain’s room was broken by the sounds of their rhythm as it became brutal, of Elias’ body writhing up against Peter’s, of flesh slapping flesh. Peter’s mouth found Elias’ shoulder, tongue against salt-sweet skin, muffling his own noises -- and then suddenly he felt Elias tighten around him. The noise the creature made was airless, rasping, and yet oddly sweet as he came, spasming around Peter’s cock. 

A more polite lover might have stopped, but Peter had never laid claim to politeness, at least in bed. He drove on, burying in deep with a hoarse, breathless growl as he set his teeth to that pale shoulder. He knew it would mark Elias, just as the infuriating creature had given him to imagine, and perhaps in hindsight he would be angry about it, but he couldn’t be bothered right now. His body moved on instinct, driven by the hot, liquid pleasure building in the taut place between his hips, one arm hooking around Elias’ waist to bring the sinuous figure up closer to him and greedily suspending him against Peter’s body as he ground tightly against what passed for Elias’ hips. He burned with want, the space he cultivated between himself and others consumed suddenly with writhing, shameless heat, with a man who smelled and tasted of the sea and felt like heaven wrapped around his cock, and Peter felt the end of his stamina coming quickly. He wanted to pull back, to retrieve some of that space, to push off the end and torment Elias just a little bit longer --

\-- but suddenly that plush, deceptive little mouth was working against his shoulder and those teeth, sharp as the bitter point of a lie, pierced the tender spot just below his collarbone. Elias’ voice keened pleasure, both inside his head and out, as the sudden rush of tangled pleasure-pain crashed down over Peter and he drove himself in bruisingly hard, the crisp hairs at the base of his cock crushed against the tender smoothness of Elias’ body as he came with a startled, hoarse grunt, filling Elias with thick spurts of cum until it stuffed him, until their mixed fluids leaked messily out around his cock. He pulled out of Elias, cock still twitching, and the last sticky strands of his seed spattered over the bruised, swollen slit he’d just been buried in. He panted, and one hand freed itself to fist in Elias’ curls as the creature’s jaw relaxed and those teeth slipped out of his chest. After a moment, he felt the flush of anger melt away as that mouth began to work softly against the wound, lapping almost tenderly at it.

_ Sorry, Peter _ , came the languid, posh purr of Elias’ voice in his head, and as he tilted his chin down, he found Elias’ gaze with his own -- damn those lucid cat-green eyes, gone hazy with the lingering heat of pleasure.  _ I did lie a bit after all. Forgive me. _ As Peter straightened, he found his pale skin marked with a perfect little outline of those needle-bright teeth, his blood oozing sluggishly from the double crescent of neat, clean little punctures. Elias’ lips were stained coyly red, painted with his blood, and Peter felt his cock twitch again with interest despite himself. His fingers relaxed in curls which he found now, half dry, to be a rather becoming shade of deep auburn and fine-textured, and he straightened, releasing Elias’ hair. The creature lazily writhed on the worn fabric of his couch, the double-finned tail moving as if of its own volition, and one of Elias’ hands lowered to his slit, playing absently in the mess left behind by their coupling, tracing the outline of his opening with languid, shameless heat. Peter’s gaze was unwillingly drawn back to that spot, where his seed was oozing out of Elias, and he swallowed hard.

“Did you get what you wanted?” He reached toward his desk, snaring a clean handkerchief and pressing it to the punctures first. They were barely bleeding, and Peter let out a breath, glad that the sudden press of  _ too much too close too intimate _ receded and let him reclaim some of his calm. Perfunctorily he wiped their mingled fluids from his cock, then tucked it back inside his trousers, doing them back up and reassembling himself, rebuilding his walls. He suspected, though, that he was going to carry the memory of salt-sweet skin and a hole as wet as the sea wrapped around him for longer than he wanted to. Secondarily he suspected Elias knew this, the smug little bastard.

_ I did, _ Elias hummed, and then,  _ will you put me back in the water, now? I’m tired. _ There was an edge of waspish plaintiveness in his tone as he pushed himself up on his elbows, shaking his head. 

Peter bent again, and scooped Elias up, almost bridal-style, and carried the eel-creature to the tank, leaving a messy wet spot on his couch. He lifted him up effortlessly over the edge of the aquarium, and let him down into the cold seawater, which Elias sank into with a deep sigh that turned into a bubbling hum as he lowered himself to the bottom among the seaweed, sprawling gracelessly as the slits that hid his gills flared open, exchanging air for water.  _ You can go, now. _

Peter’s brow raised, and he bent to collect his jumper from the floor where it had been thrown. “Of course,” he said, a hint of amused irony in his voice. “Please, by all means, make yourself quite at home.” But it didn’t stop him from pulling his jumper on over his head and leaving the room in silence, quicker than he’d have wanted to, leaving the lid to the tank open and the creature -- Elias, something whispered treacherously in his chest -- quite at his own leisure in icy, isolated comfort.


End file.
